Content To Sleep, Their Work Well Done
by WastingYourGum
Summary: One shot, set post-S3 and with spoilers for the finale. John finds himself in an unexpected situation, watching the autumn leaves fall in Sherwood and reflecting on former friends...


**Disclaimer**: Eve belongs to the BBC and Tiger Aspect but we think Little John and Much are legendary...

**A/N:** One shot, set post-S3 and with spoilers for the S3 Finale. Reviews, as ever, will be treasured.

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****How silently they tumble down  
****And come to rest upon the ground****  
****To lay a carpet, rich and rare,****  
****Beneath the trees without a care,****  
****Content to sleep, their work well done,****  
****Colours gleaming in the sun.**

**At other times, they wildly fly****  
****Until they nearly reach the sky.****  
****Twisting, turning through the air****  
****Till all the trees stand stark and bare.****  
****Exhausted, drop to earth below****  
****To wait, like children, for the snow. **

**- 'Leaves' by Elsie Brady**

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Quite a mild day for late October; scattered clouds sent shafts of sunlight chasing each other through the trees. John watched as the light breeze made the autumn leaves drift gently down in a whispering rain across the forest. He loved this time of year, even though it always held the bitter promise of cold days and colder nights to come. He smiled wryly - for once, not something he had to worry about. He wouldn't see the day's end, never mind the Season's.

He could certainly think of worse places to die. At least he was in England, in his beloved Sherwood and not strung up in that godforsaken desert to be slowly turned into sand-blasted leather. He'd sworn then he wanted to die in England with his wife and son by his side - and even half a wish granted was better than none at all.

He shifted slightly as the pool of blood under him reached the small of his back and a warm, wet feeling soaked into the top of his leggings. Maybe God had decided to show mercy to an old outlaw after all - he couldn't feel any pain, just an oddly detached sense of calm.

Such a stupid thing to happen - and so close to the camp as well...

He'd spent most of his life dodging swords, spears and arrows and knew how to live in the forest better than any man. Now here he lay, _dying _in the forest, slowly bleeding his life out onto the brilliant carpet of colour, adding his own dark scarlet to the deep russet reds and golden yellows. If he'd just been a fraction quicker, that boar wouldn't even have touched him as it charged past. He wouldn't have fallen, wouldn't have smacked his head off that stone as the briar whipped back to slash deeply across his side. But his edge had long gone, dulled by lack of combat now his only battles were with hunger and the elements once more.

By the time he woke he was already too weak to move and resigned himself to a few last moments staring upwards into the canopy and making his peace. At least he'd been granted that - he might never have woken at all and the branch could have as easily whipped across his throat as his side. He had seen too many men have their lives cut short on an instant like that, remembered the shock on their faces as they realised all their future moments and past regrets were suddenly forfeit.

He wondered how long Robin had had for quiet contemplation when he had lain not far from here breathing his last. They'd given him a good while until Tuck had just nodded, certain that the poison would have done it's work by then. They'd gone to collect him but they'd never know if he'd faded fast once he'd resigned himself to his fate or fought for every last breath. The 'Robin Hood' of Tuck's legend would have fought - John suspected the Robin of Locksley he'd known would have quickly and gladly given up the beating of his heart in this life to have it reborn and reunited with its twin in the next.

He also knew there would be no such welcome for his heart. It's solitary pulse would be picked up again with no echo and just as lonely in whatever other world waited as this one. The most he could hope for would be a greeting from other friends who had passed over without pairing their hearts to another.

Had Roy had time to think of anything as they'd butchered him on the castle steps? Had Allan wondered if his friends would ever know he'd been true at the end or had the arrows in his back snatched him from this life as quickly as he'd taken purses from belts in Nottingham market? _Maybe I can ask him when I see him..._ John thought with a half-smile. _Right after he punches me for tying him up like that._

His eyes locked upon a particularly vivid red leaf as it slowly tumbled towards him and gently drifted down to land on his chest. The forest would bury him in it's own way, tucked under a blanket of oak, elm, birch and rowan. No heavy earth under a churchyard yew for him - Sherwood could claim his long bones and he'd gladly give them. They'd probably never even find his body, not that there was anyone who'd look.

He'd held his boy for one glorious and heart-breaking moment in this forest, been hunted by dogs, frightened by masks, kissed by a queen - he grinned at that memory. Run, fought, hidden...killed. He'd slept so many nights under these trees...why shouldn't his longest rest be here also?

He'd already lived far longer than he'd ever hoped for, wished for or deserved. And it was such a beautiful day...

A _good _day...

~~~O~~~

"Sorry... what?" Much looked at the serving girl in confusion, sure he'd misheard.

"I - I was just wonderin', your lordship, why we hadn't seen Little John at your dinner table now he's back in these parts?"

"But he's not. John left to look for his family months ago... You haven't heard anything, have you?" he asked the woman seated opposite who shook her head.

"No, my love. I thought the same as you. He went to Leicester to try and track down Alice and Little Little John." Eve put down her embroidery and questioned the servant who had brought them their drinks. "What makes you think he's back, Martha?"

"Well he's been seen, milady. Wat Fletcher says he saw him in Sherwood several weeks ago. We thought he was maybe mistaken but then Owen Tanner said he'd seen him too over by Locksley."

"Why would he not tell us if he's come back?" Much wondered.

"I've no idea. Maybe you should go ask him?"

"But how? If I don't know where he's..." Much's voice trailed off and he frowned as he thought.

Eve smiled. "Martha, could you fetch the master's boots and winter cloak please?"

"Yes, milady."

"Much?"

Much started guiltily out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"Be back before dark please, you know Robin and Michael won't go to sleep without a story."

"Yes, dear."

"And wrap up warm!" she called after him.

~~~O~~~

The camp _should _have been a mess of leaves and undergrowth, already well reclaimed by the forest.

It was spotless, as tidy as he'd ever managed to make it when every bunk had been occupied. The door swung open effortlessly and the wood pile and larder were both well stocked, for one if not six.

Much looked with great sadness at the neatly made bed, the upturned pot drying beside the range, the covered night soil bucket - all signs of recent and solitary occupation. John was here and had been here for quite some time from the look of it.

But why? Much would have given him room in Bonchurch in a heartbeat. The twins adored him and Eve would like having someone to talk to when he had business in town at the Council of Nobles.

And John would hate to be a burden even where he was not. His pride would never let him accept even the smallest charity, no matter how much love it was given with. His search for his family had obviously failed and John had chosen to return to the only home he knew.

Much sighed heavily. He could wait here till John returned but a promise was a promise and it was already growing late. He would come back tomorrow and hope to find his friend then, to at least check he was in good health even if he could not persuade him to live at Bonchurch with him.

He closed the camp door and turned towards home and the small boys waiting to hear another stirring tale of Sherwood. Maybe he should tell them one of John tonight - fighting off four guards and the sheriff armed only with a staff in his hands and a small boy on his shoulders. They'd like that one - he just hoped he wouldn't have to act it out too many times.

He glanced up at the darkening sky - already the heavy rain clouds were clearing, the wind was lessening and the temperature was rising slightly, promising a better, milder day tomorrow.

A _good _day...


End file.
